everybody knows that it's a fact (kiss, kiss)
by Streaks of Hail
Summary: And suddenly they're kissing, eyes fluttering closed and her hands tangling in his curls and his hand going to tilt her chin up, two sworn enemies locking lips in her bedroom on a stuffy summer evening.
1. Chapter 1

**AN** : i totally went for a more pcturesque theme - in my mind they're in a sunny little English village somewhere in the country. no computers or advanced tech, and totally old-school games like hopscotch, jump rope and monkeybars. but hey! see it however you'd like - the world's your oyster. it's a total love-hate relationship in this chapter, and it's mostly filled with childish battles and Jemma channeling her inner-Hermione. i haven't yet seen the finale, so no spoilers please!

\- also, this song was totally inspired by Lana's National Anthem, i'd recommend listening to it if you like to listen to music while reading.

...

For a tiny little girl with curly pigtails and a stack of books tucked under her arm, Jemma Simmons packs a punch. She's a bossy, smug, know-it-all with the ability to charm the lollipops out of old ladies and melt the heart of any on-looker.

Well, Leopold Fitz knows better. He knows something is up as soon as she enters the room and sits down next to him with a smug look.

"You missed a p in Apple."

"Your b's are backwards," he counters.

She keeps her gaze trained on the blackboard, but he knows he can spy the beginnings of a smile.

(and the beginnings of a rivalry)

...

"You're looking at her, aren't you?" comes a familiar voice, and Antoine Triplett, fellow friend and classmate slides into the next seat with a carton of milk and a lunch tray.

"She's mean," Fitz confirms, pride having taken a sore hit. At the other table, the girl in question spies him looking and shoots him a (smug) grin in response. "And annoying," he adds, picking at his food.

"You mean Jemma Simmons?" quips another voice, and this time it's Alphonso Mackenzie, with Lance Hunter and Grant Ward in tow. "She's supposed to be the smartest in our class."

"I bet she isn't," Fitz pipes immediately.

Lance wrinkles his nose. "No," he disagrees. "She totally is. She used the word _sensational_ when I was talking to her. What does that even mean?"

"I know what that means," Fitz boasts, lying through his teeth as he tries to avoid glancing back.

"Besides, girls have cooties." There's a general nod of agreement around the table - some things never change.

(and later; "Mum, what does sensational mean?")

...

"Simmons."

"Leopold."

It's like one of those proper western showdowns that his dad used to watch before he passed away, where the two cowboys pull out their guns and prepare for an event to happen. He can almost imagine the tumbleweed floating past the playground.

"First one up to the top wins," Jemma announces, a smug smile curving her lips as she points to the impossibly high monkey bars. The sudden doubt must show on his face because her eyes glint. "Not scared, are you, Leo?"

"No way!" he retorts, flashing a grin in return. "Easy peasy. I'll be at the top before you can tell me you give up."

She purses her lips. "We'll see," she sing-songs.

Tom-boy Skye Coulson stands mediator, hair tangled and grin wide as she counts down the start. "Ready.. steady... _go_!"

And then the race is really on, one arm over the other, legs swinging and blisters forming on the soft skin of his palm until finally his hands meet air and he falls to the platform with a light thump.

"It's a tie," concludes the shocked crowd who've gathered to watch the show-down.

He gives her a cheeky smirk. "Easy peasy, lemon squeezy."

She sticks her tongue out at him. "This isn't over," she proclaims.

He returns the favour at her retreating figure, watching as she giggles with her friends and they skip away to play jump-rope.

...

"You tied with her on the monkey bars," Lance says in disbelief, sharing a bag of salt and vinegar chips with the group. "Isn't that enough?"

Fitz rolls his eyes. "That was two weeks ago. She already thinks she's the queen of the playground."

"That's because she is," Trip points out like it's obvious.

"We can't let her get away with it!" he protests, ignoring Lance's spluttering as he finishes off the rest of the chippies, licking the salt off his fingers ( - hey, beating poster-child Jemma Simmons is enough to work up a healthy appetite).

"I think she already has," Mack adds, watching as she flashes an older kid a charming smile and gets a lolly and a pat on the head in return.

"Show off," Fitz grumbles.

"You're just mad because no one ever gives you candy," Grant says.

"I thought we agreed we weren't going to talk about that."

...

So he plots and schemes and pulls faces behind her back, in the immature primary school fashion that seems to take it's form in most adolescents. He throws crumpled paper balls at her head and pinches her chips when she's not looking and pulls on her curls, so in return she sticks out her foot to trip him up and narks on him for every little detail and makes a point to break the red crayon before he can reach it.

(and all with a smug smile on her lips.)

"You spelt elephant wrong," he'll crow triumphantly one day, and she'll retort with something equally witty like;

"You're looking at it upside down, silly."

("No, he's not," Skye whispers when Fitz's back is turned.

"I know," Jemma shushes her friend, remedying the mistake quickly. "But you can't let him get everything right. He'll get too full of himself and then his head will be bigger then it already is."

"I don't think that's how it works," Skye frowns confusedly.

Jemma sighs, leaning over to fix Skye's spelling mistakes. "It's a metaphor, Skye. You'll get it when you're older."

"We're the same age!"

"I know. It's just something my parents always seem to say.")

...

They're playing hopscotch for PE and even that becomes a competitive sport in the kids eyes, so the boys and girls seperate into different teams and stare each other down until the teacher claps her hands and desperately tells them to turn their frowns upside down.

"Do you know how to play hopscotch, Leo?" Jemma giggles innocently, patting down her skirt and looking like a picture-perfect school-girl with her peter-pan collar and her green school blazer.

"'Course I do," Fitz returns just as wittily, plucking a piece of bark from the ground. "Do you know how to _win_ hopscotch?"

"I guess we'll see," she laughs in response, and suddenly his palms feel sweaty as he tosses the bark. It bounces once; twice, three times.

 _Two_.

"Bad luck, Leo." Jemma exchanges a look with her best friend Skye. "Everybody knows two is the worst number."

...

"Entries for the colouring competition have to be in by the end of the week," the teacher announces cheerily, pausing to eye Fitz and Jemma. "And remember that this is just for fun. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Miss Montgomery," Jemma smiles sweetly, but Fitz can see behind the batted eyelashes that she's already plotting ways to upstage him, to make her work better than his in every aspect possible. Well, he's not exactly going to lie back and let that happen, is he?

"Miss Montgomery?" he pipes up just as innocently. "Can I use the glitter?"

"Yes, but be careful, there isn't much left."

Jemma's pretty smile slips off her face. Fitz grins.

Game on.


	2. Chapter 2

**(cause you can be my queen, i'll be your king)**

They're older now, but the rivalry doesn't die. Just because they're older doesn't mean they're any less naïve, and so on goes the eternal cycle. She points out his spelling mistakes, he points out her flaws to the teacher and their friends swivel their heads like watching a tennis match, snickering at the pranks and insults and jibes ricocheting back and forth.

He 'accidentally' gets her trouble with the teacher, so she 'accidentally' spills milk all over the work he'd slaved on for over half an hour.

"Oops!" She holds a hand to her mouth (most likely to hide her giggles) and drops to collect the soggy carton on the floor. "I'm _so_ sorry, Leo!"

"No you're not," he mutters, watching as the milk slowly trickles off his desk into a puddle on the floor.

"What's going on here?" inquires the teacher nosily, bustling her way through the clamouring kids to peer at the mess through her spectacles. "Would either of you care to explain what is going on?"

Immediately, Jemma turns on the puppy-dog eyes (long since perfected, he knows) and straightens up, widening her eyes at the teacher and tugging on her plait with one hand. "I was walking past and I tripped and the milk went _everywhere_ ," she wails, and oh - she's _good_.

"You did it on purpose," he accuses, fighting valiantly for his pride and his reputation.

The teacher purses her lips, looking disbelieving. "Now, Fitz - "

"It's true, Mrs Hoddinott," pipes up a voice, and Mack grins supportively from his side of the room. "I saw it happen with my own two eyes, right here."

"Me too," Trip adds helpfully.

The teacher looks dumbfounded that Jemma Simmons could ever do wrong. "Well then Miss Simmons, I - "

"No way!" Skye defends, looking fierce in her combat boots and denim jacket, a stark contrast from Jemma's pretty pastel dresses and sweaters. "They're making it up! Those two are both Fitz's friends."

"And you're Jemma's friend," Lance argues. Suddenly the room splits into chaos, each picking a side (Fitz or Simmons - there's no middle ground in elementry school) and yelling their opinions at the top of their voices. Through all the shouting, Fitz and Jemma remain silent. When the teacher turns away frantically, Jemma smiles and tosses her plait behind her shoulder.

 _Thanks_ , she mouths cockily.

"Enough!" screams the teacher. The class falls into abrupt silence, all frozen with wide eyes and mouths open. "Leopold Fitz, Jemma Simmons, detention for both of you!"

Fitz and Jemma both open their mouths, a perfect picture of indignation. "But Miss - "

"I don't want to hear another word! I've had enough of your nonsense! Your parents will be receiving phone calls and you, Miss Simmons, will be pulled out of the play. Fitz, I'm withdrawing you from the soccer team. Get your act together, you two!"

And there's another thing to add to the long list of ' _why i hate jemma simmons_ '.

...

Later as promised, the teacher hauls them in for detention. Instead of running around and messing about with his friends, Fitz is forced to watch them laughing wildly from the classroom window.

Beside him, Jemma doesn't look very pleased either, a glum look on her features and her fingernails bitten down to the numb.

They're supposed to be writing lines ( _i shall not tell lies, i shall not disrupt the class from their learning time, i shall be a good little child and do as told)_ but while Jemma's pencil scratches furiously at the desk next to him, Fitz's paper is filling with mindless doodles instead. Dogs, cats, soccer balls, pranks to pull on the annoying girl sitting right beside him - the possibilties are endless.

"You're not supposed to draw on your book," she says snidely once the teacher's popped out to get a fresh mug of coffee.

"Like _you've_ never drawn on your papers," he retorts.

"I haven't," she replies as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, holding her book up for the world to see. Sure enough, her book is prim and proper, without a correction or a drawing to be seen.

"I'm sorry that you actually _want_ to write lines," he says childishly, eager to find any excuse to pause from the mind-numbing boredom that comes with lunchtime detentions.

"You're the one who got us here in the first place," she hisses just as the teacher walks back in. Scooping her books off her table, she smiles sweetly at the teacher, eyes full of innocence. "I'm finished, Miss."

"Well done, Jemma," the teacher remarks warmly. "You can go now."

Jemma waltzes out of the room with a bounce in her step. "Bye, Fitz! Have fun _writing lines_!"

...

"She's horrible!" Fitz exclaims to his friends as they're kicking a ball around on the streets, being shouted at by the batty old lady next door and stirring up rain puddles (being nuisances are their specialty).

"Literally the worst," Trip says in agreement.

"A right old hellbeast," Lance supplies helpfully. When he recieves strange stares, he gives them a defensive look. "What? I heard my older sister say it!"

"Anyway," Fitz continues, glazing over Lance (like they normally do), "we can't just sit here and let her ruin everything."

"Last time I checked, she didn't actually _do_ anything," Trip points out. "You're just mad because your arguing landed both of you in detention."

Fitz splutters - totally not because it's true, but because Trip is being ridiculous, and is he seriously - "Trip, are you _defending_ Jemma Simmons?"

"No way!" Trip backpedals quickly, kicking the ball a little rougher than intended towards Mack, who passes it to Fitz in turn. "I just don't see what fighting with her has got to do with anything. Why do you even hate her so much?"

"You'll get it when you're older," Fitz says smugly.

"I'm older than you!"

"What are we even going to do?" Mack interrupts, forever the forward one.

"Don't worry," Fitz assures, "I've got it all figured out. Simmons will be so mad by the time we're done with her, she won't be able to do anything about it."

He kicks the ball a little harshly.

 _Crash_.

Crazy old Mrs Winston didn't need a window anyway, right?

"Quick, run!"

...

Later, his mum sits him down at the table after dinner, when he's still wiping his fingers on the napkin and eyeing the toffee pudding balanced precariously on the kitchen counter.

"Now, Leopold - " he winces automatically, because why on Earth had his mother decided to name him the literal worst thing in the world? " - I got a phone call from your teacher today."

"I'm sorry," he says, because he really is. He's guilty because he knows hard hard Mrs Fitz tries, how tired she is when she gets home from work each day, how eager she is for him to be happy and get everything he needs, even though they live in a tiny house on the north-west corner of the street suburbs, close enough to walk to school.

Mum shakes her head disbelievingly. "You're such a good boy, Leo. What's happening? Is everything okay?"

He debates telling her about Jemma Simmons, about the bright-eyed girl who's sparked a fire in the classroom. He debates telling her about the heated rivalry, how he actually seems to find fighting with her fun, how she always seems to be match-for-match with him even though he keeps pulling new tricks out of the bag.

Instead, he bites his tongue. Somehow their relationship seems sacred.

(his mum knows anyway. mums always know everything.)

...

"Okay, this is the plan," Fitz announces to his friends one frosty Thursday morning. They're huddled in the corner, with Lance jumping to see over Mack and Trip leaning on the far wall.

"Mate, I can't see anything!" Lance complains.

"It's not my fault you're so short," Mack snickers, temper on high due to the cold temperature (the heating's broken).

"I'm not short, you're just tall!" is the protest, and Fitz huffs at his friends' refusal to cooperate.

"Guys, listen! This is a life or death situation! Do you _want_ to defeat Jemma Simmons or not?" he says impatiently. When the group have stopped chattering, he reaches for a felt pen and draws a couple of circles and instructions onto the notepad in his sloped, messy handwriting. "This is how it's going to go, okay? You all know what to do. Any questions?"

There's a brief pause as he stares his mates down, until Trip raises his hand tentatively.

"Trip?" Fitz invites.

"What does the map have to do with our plan?"

Before he can indignantly defend himself, there's a creak and a rush of cool air, and the all-too-familiar Jemma Simmons and Skye Coulson waltz in, all smug grins and wind-ruffled hair as they shoot the boys blatant looks and whisper behind their hands.

"Phase A is go," he whispers to the others, crumpling the crudely drawn map into a paper ball and tossing it into the bin.

...

The plan is carried out without a hitch (well, if they ignore the part where Lance just about busted the whole mission), and soon enough they're sitting neatly at their desks, laughing and joking like it's any other day. Fitz can't stop grinning even as Jemma comments on his drawings, even when the soccer game is post-poned due to poor weather, _especially_ when the teacher announces that the results for the maths test are in.

Mrs Hoddinott reaches Jemma's table to hand over her results when (right on cue) a piece of paper floats out out of her desk and onto the ground. Suspiciously, the teacher plucks it up and frowns. Her expression is enough to make Fitz and his friends spiral into giggles, stifled hurriedly behind their fists.

"Miss Simmons. I now know why you recieved 100% percent on your test," Mrs Hoddinott reprimands, her voice growly and her normally fragile appearance now frightening. "I can't believe that you would do this."

Jemma's eyes widen and for a split second she looks like she's about to cry (and Jemma Simmons _never_ cries). "W-What?"

The teacher sets the piece of paper down. "Where did you even find all of these answers? I'm very disappointed in you. Who would have thought that you would cheat? On a maths test, of all things. You're good at maths, Jemma."

"This - this wasn't me, Miss!" Jemma protests. Fitz doesn't feel bad. Not at all. Not even a tiny bit (but he's stopped laughing).

"I'll be calling your parents, and you will be attending detention for the rest of the week. I'm afraid the headmaster will hear about this."

The bell rings, and the students shuffle obediently out of class (and Fitz tries to ignore the guilt pooling in his stomach).

...

"That was great!" Lance and Mack share a high-five. Trip grins but he's shaking his head, and the four of them are just leaving school, running through the corridors and tripping up the younger kids.

The other three race ahead, jostling each other excitedly, but Fitz trails behind. He halts when he hears a sudden noise. Glancing back to the others, slowly he creeps up to one of the classrooms, pushing the door open just enough for him to peek in. Through the little sliver he sees something that takes him by surprise.

Jemma 'i'm so perfect and pretty' Simmons is crying. She's sitting on the floor, knees tucked up to her chest and she's _sobbing_ , wiping roughly at her eyes and breathing in gulps of air between sobs.

Fitz might feel a little sick.

"Turbo! Are you coming or not?"

Fitz jumps away from the door immediately. "Um, I'll - I'll be there in a minute. I have to do something. I forgot my pencil case."

That being said, it isn't long before he's back at his own classroom, rapping nervously on the door. "Mrs Hoddinott? I have something to confess."

...

The next day Jemma is much happier. She walks with a spring in her step and her usual charming smile, and even though Fitz has a heavy detention under his belt and a lecture about honesty ringing through his brain, he feels way better.

It's as he's gathering his stuff up for detention that he finds the note. Written in curly, cursive writing, it doesn't take a genius to know who eht note is from. _Thanks_.

"I know it was you," comes a voice, and as if on cue Jemma appears at the door. She's wearing her hair in braids, a white-collared sweater, and for once she's not being obnoxious.

"What?" Fitz frowns.

"I know it was you. The one who put the note in my desk. You and your friends," she repeats, knowing as always (it's one of the more annoying things about her).

"How?" He frowns suspiciously. Has she come to gloat again? Because he just did a nice thing for her and now he's starting to regret it -

"You're not very good at being secretive," she says primly, taking something out from her bag. In her grasp is a crumpled, creased piece of paper that he recognises.

"I knew I shouldn't have drawn the map," he grumbles. There's a slight pause before it all clicks, and his head jerks up suddenly. "Hang on, so you weren't really crying?"

She smirks. "Potentially."

She looks like she's about to leave (and he's expecting her to), but then she halts and scuffs her feet and does something completely un-Simmons-like.

"And Fitz?" She smiles shyly. "I thought you were actually going to go through with the whole thing. I guess you're braver than I thought. I just wanted to say - I suppose I just wanted to say thanks. I mean, not for framing me and getting me into a whole lot of trouble, but for owning up. Maybe you've got some guts after all."

He isn't quite sure how to respond to that, how to comprehend the mere fact that Jemma Simmons is being nice, so instead he grins cheekily. "Jemma Simmons, did you actually just give me a compliment?"

She rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Enjoy your detention, Leopold."

Ah. There she is.

(some things never do change)


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N's:** It's been so long since I updated this that I thought I'd bring out another chapter! (also, what would you guys think about a Halloween special for this fic?)_  
 _Side Note: poor Lance has become the Neville Longbottom of this story. And if anybody's confused, everybody's around about twelve or thirteen in this chapter, basically the last year before college/high school._

* * *

Next hits the ripe age of puberty, all childish petulance and mood swings and body hair in extra places. The children of the village do not escape this unfortunate event, and any who have any semblance of a brain dive for cover when Fitz or Jemma engage a fight while in one of _those_ moods.

"Don't write so hard, the noise is drilling a whole through my head," Jemma will snap irritably from across the room.

"Good," Fitz will shout back. "It might improve it somewhat."

("did you _hear_ what that ignorant toad said?" jemma will whisper furiously to skye, pressing so hard the lead of her pencil snaps clean off. "he insulted me!"

"how dare he," skye agrees, giving the boys dirty looks, looking fiercely terrifying with her tom-boyish fashion.)

...

With a new school year comes new pupils, and the students are undeniably curious when a new girl shows up on the very first Monday of term. The newcomer is blonde, and full of swagger as she kisses her brother on the cheek and waves goodbye. There's something undeniably cool about the way she holds herself, and jaws are dropped across the room.

"I know we said no girls allowed in our group," Lance says, "but do you think we could make a little exception?"

"No way!" Familiar figures push past them, Jemma with her hair swaying behind her and Skye sticking her tongue out at the boys as she waltzes past. "Us girls are already low on numbers. She's going to be _our_ friend."

And that was how the story of The Friendship War started.

...

Throughout the days, both Jemma and Fitz try desperately to win over the heart and affection of the new girl in town. They quickly learn that her name is Bobbi Morse, that she comes from a fairly wealthy family of four, along with her younger brother Dion Morse, and her two parents. They learn her favourite colour is red, they learn that she not only takes martial arts in her spare time, but dance and swimming lessons as well.

"How did you learn all this information?" Fitz says incredulously, having accidentally stumbled into the girls' conversation on his way to the loo.

Jemma hoists her chin up and takes his sceptical look all in stride. "I did my research," she tells him, smug as always. "You should try it sometime, Leo. That's how I actually pass my school assignments."

"Ouch," Triplett winces.

" _Burn_." Mack nods in agreement.

"Not helping, guys," Fitz hisses to the posse of boys gathered behind him. He saves his death-glare to go with the lecture later, instead sizing Jemma Simmons up with a look that says ' _i'm far better than you, so you need to get a check on yourself immediately_ '. "Wow, I didn't know you studied, Simmons. I should have known you'd need the extra help."

Jemma's mood sours. He's hit a sore spot, and he's enjoying every single minute of it. Education and intelligence is a high number in her carefully mapped books. "Why don't you go play on the playground, Fitz? Studying is for big kids."

"Studying is for people who can't retain the information in their heads," Fitz recites - which isn't technically true, but a little white lie never hurt anybody, right?

"Come back and have this conversation when you see your test results," Jemma says lightly, twirling a piece of hair around her fingers in an exaggerated fashion. Beside her, Skye pops her bubble of bright pink gum to prove her point. "Bet I scored higher than you."

For a moment, Fitz is furious. Then, "Well, you might want to revisit question thirty-five. The answer was A, not B."

"That's not right, I double-checked the - hang on, did you _look_ at my test results?! Leopold Fitz, that's cheating!" she yells after him, but Fitz and his friends are already scampering off towards the playground, high-fiving each other as they kick a ball around the court.

...

Bobbi Morse is no easy cookie to crack, the kids find out after innumerable attempts to sway her onto their side.

"I heard that your dad works for Shield Enterprises," Jemma gushes one morning, when the rain is pattering against the windows and they're supposed to be finding the perimeter of a swimming pool.

Fitz, always seeming to slide in at the perfect times, leaps up to sit on a desk, much to Jemma's obvious distaste. "I heard that your dad _owns_ Shield Enterprises," he remarks, grinning as Jemma's frown deepens.

"That's not true," Bobbi laughs as she files the correct numbers neatly in her book. "But he does work there. That's why we moved over here."

"You live down the road from me," Jemma says quickly, in an attempt to bring the conversation back around. "I saw the moving truck. Me and mum were going to bring around some cookies, but... we burnt them."

"Only you could burn cookies, Simmons," Fitz snorts, trying to hide his amusement.

"Only you could burn toast, Fitz," Jemma retorts, instantly sharp as quicksilver. "Don't think I've forgotten about The Jam Incident."

"That was an accident and you know it!" he protests.

"Sorry," Bobbi cuts in, looking slightly apologetic. "But do you think you guys could.. argue somewhere else for a little bit? I really need to get this work done."

"Sorry," Fitz mutters easily, sliding off the desk and retreating.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Jemma spits out rapidly, a deep blush colouring her cheeks as she all but leaps out of the way. "Fitz is really just quite a horrible influence."

"A horrible influence?" Fitz splutters, all attempts at being polite to Bobbi forgotten in his hurry to retort with something indignant and witty. "Are you even listening to yourself, Simmons? We were doing perfectly fine here until you decided to come along and ruin everything?"

"Oh, please," she scoffs, like the mere suggestion of her being rude is the most absurd thing she's ever heard. "I was talking to her first, thank you very much. We were actually getting along very nicely until you decided to come and push your nose into everything. Isn't that right, Bobbi?"

They both turn when there's no answer, eyebrows knitting in confusion when they spy nothing except an empty seat.

"I think she got bored of your arguing," Mack snickers to himself.

"Shut up, Mack."

(well, at least they've agreed on something for once)

...

"You know the new girl, Bobbi?" Triplett asks, sliding into a seat next to the others boys with his lunch tray. He's got one of those looks on his face, one of those looks that means he's got the latest school gossip and can't wait to share it with everybody else.

"Do I ever," Lance sighs, all glazed eyes and eager ears in the way that comes with middle school crushes. The rest of the boys have no clue what he's talking about, for crushes are unfamiliar to them as snow in summertime.

"Whatever, Lance." Fitz wrinkles his nose at the other boy's dreamy look, instead stealing a cookie from Mack's tray. "What about her, Trip?"

"Well, apparently Lance's heart eyes scared her off. She's hanging out with Jemma and Skye now," Trip says nonchalantly as he peels open the lid of his yoghurt. "Ugh, mom forgot to pack me a spoon again. Do you guys have any spares?"

" _What?_ I can't believe she would do that," Fitz splutters in outrage, trying to signal devil eyes to the girls across the lunch court, even though they're sitting with their backs to him. "It's all bloody Simmons's fault. Sticking her nose in places she's not supposed to. Now she's gone and charmed another girl to add to her group."

He huffs and tries not to blatantly sulk at the table. It's not like he's particularly mad at the fact that Bobbi's declined their friendship (she can make her own choices, after all, he's not the boss of her), but more angry at the fact that Jemma had outdone him yet again. Honestly, does she not stop at anything to get what she wants? How is Fitz supposed to be smug when she's flaunting off her winnings all the time?

"We need to devise a plan," he announces finally, leaning forward to portray more seriousness to the situation. "One that will finally show Jemma Simmons who rules the playground."

Mack digs through his lunch box. "Here, Trip. I have a spare spoon."

Fitz drops his head to the table with a soft _thunk_.

(" _enough_ with the spoons, guys! we have very important business to discuss!"

"can't it wait for a little bit? my yoghurt's getting warm."

"you guys are bloody useless."

"love you too, man.")

...

Several weeks after Bobbi had joined the dark side, Fitz finds a delicately folded pastel envelope in his bag. To his surprise, his name is embroidered in a neat handwritten font, decorated with stickers and various other girly things. It's so distinctly _her_ that he knows the letter is from Jemma even before he opens it.

Still, what he's _surprised_ to find is a totally different expectation. Because, written in a tiny scrawl, is an invitation to Jemma Simmons' birthday party.

Part of him thinks ' _aren't we a little too old for birthday parties now_ ' but the other (bigger) part is on red alert, thinking through all the possible circumstances that could possibly prompt Jemma into inviting her worst enemy (or arch-nemesis, if you will) to her birthday.

Could it be a prank? Maybe her parents forced her... or maybe she wanted more presents. This, of course, makes him scowl. He tries to keep it to himself, but everyone knows the Fitzs aren't the richest family on the block.

Fortunately for him, he's saved the trouble of over thinking, because the know-it-all herself is stepping out into the hallway with a sunny smile and the air of importance.

"What's this?" He waves the letter at her accusingly.

Jemma gives him one of her trademark smug smiles. "It's a birthday invite, Fitz. Have you ever gotten one before?"

"Yes," he scowls, "but not from you."

"Don't worry. It wasn't by choice."

"There goes my hopes, dreams and aspirations," he says sarcastically. "What if I don't want to come? My birthday is only twenty-seven days after yours. I might be planning my own party."

"Then don't come," Jemma says, airily. "No one's making you."

Bobbi and Skye pops out of the classroom behind Jemma, and the trio grab their bags and walk down the hallway, but not without a parting look from Skye herself. Bobbi shoots him one of sympathy, but that quickly turns to disgust upon spying Lance, who's rushing up to join Fitz cluelessly. Fitz refrains from sighing heavily.

"Well, that confirms my theory."

Trip pops out of nowhere. "Since when did we have a theory?"

"And what's this theory?" Lance blinks.

"That _you_ lot," he stares accusingly, "scared Bobbi Morse away."

" _Us lot_?"

"How is it our fault?" Lance says incredulously.

"Because..." Fitz scrambles for an explanation, but faced with two sceptical eighth year boys, he's forced to give up and resort to childish tactics. "Just because, alright? _I'm_ the ringleader. _I'm_ the one invited to Simmons's birthday party, and _I'm_ going to set her straight."

Trip and Lance exchange looks, and Mack and Grant arrive, looking torn between amusement and sympathy.

"Didn't you hear, Turbo? The whole class has been invited."

"Did you really think Jemma Simmons would invite her worst enemy to her birthday party?" Grant raises an eyebrow.

"I'm invited to _everybody's_ birthday parties," Fitz defends.

Lance coughs. "Not Bobbi's." He's met with glares from all around. "What? I'm just stating the truth!"

"Hunter?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Okay."

 **...**

The day of Jemma's party is annoyingly sunny, with not a cloud to be seen and sunshine spilling through every open crevice. Still, that doesn't stop him scowling as his mother forces a present into his hands and packs him off to the party with a rather embarrassing kiss on the cheek and a wave goodbye.

He's always known Jemma was wealthy, but he doesn't think it had ever hit him until this moment, when he stands outside the party. Because it's her _house_ , but it looks more like a mansion to this lanky little boy with his scruffy shoes and his untidy hair. Balloons hang on the postbox, a sweet scent of cotton candy floats through the air, and suddenly he realises why he was told to bring his togs, because he can see the beginnings of a glistening blue pool out the back.

There's a thin, pretty woman at the door with Jemma's eyes and smile, and she leads Fitz inside and through to the backyard with an air of excitement. "You must be Fitz. Oh, I'm so glad you could make it, we've heard a lot about you."

Fitz is almost too surprised to file that in his blackmail box ( _almost_ ), but soon enough he's greeted by the sight of kids splashing and laughing and milling around the pool. Everyone's in swimming gear but so is Jemma, and wow, he forgot girls went through puberty too.

"Oh, Fitz," Jemma greets, wringing out her wet hair. "Enjoying the party?"

"Um.. yeah?" Fitz frowns, because is he dreaming, or is Simmons actually being _nice_? He should really repay the favour, but he's been doing this for so many years that it's almost a force of habit - "Do you actually have any friends, or did they just come for the pool?"

Jemma's eyes narrow. "I have more friends than you have curls, Leopold."

And they slip back into the rhythm again, easy as breathing.

(he doesn't stop to consider the possibility of them becoming friends. after all, the idea is simply ridiculous. in every world, every universe, this is what jemma and fitz are supposed to do. they're supposed to bicker and fight and make each other cry, because that's the _rule_. and lord knows jemma simmons like following the rules)

 **...**

Fitz meets up with the rest of the crew once they all arrive, and as much as Fitz loathes to admit it, he actually has _fun_. They snicker when Skye fails miserably at Pin the Tail on the Donkey (even Jemma has to fight a smile), make awed noises as Mrs. Simmons brings out a beautiful cake, and Fitz grudgingly sings Happy Birthday under his breath, but even so Jemma leans closer as she's handing him a slice of cake, smile wide and infuriating.

"What were you saying, Leo?"

He scowls at her. "Happy birthday."

She blinks, tilting her head innocently. "Sorry, come again?"

To any bystander she looks like a perfect little princess, but Leopold Fitz knows better, and he grabs the plate from her. "Happy birthday, Jemma," he says loudly, earning a few wide-eyed stares from the kids who know of their rivalry (so, basically everyone).

"That's all I needed to hear," she calls triumphantly after him, because he's already marching off towards his friends, balancing the cake precariously, because if he has to endure Jemma's birthday party torture, he's going to at least take advantage of the food.

"Wow, man," Trip shakes his head, pretending to be disappointed, "I thought you hated Jemma Simmons."

"I do! Simmons is the worst, most annoying, arrogant, annoying _toerag_ ever to grace the Earth!" he grumbles, stabbing a fork into his cake.

The crew stare doubtfully at him, until Grant says, "You've been reading Harry Potter again, haven't you?"

Fitz sniffs. "So what if I have?"

Grant, Mack and Trip exchange looks. "No reason," Mack says. "Just... no. Never mind."

And Lance, obliviously; "At least the cake is good."

And that, Fitz can't disagree with.

 **...**

Later, when the sky is darkening and the sun is casting it's golden light on the Simmons Estate, Fitz sits on the edge of the pool, feet skimming through the water, smiling as he watches Skye, Trip and Lance have a water fight, throwing balloons and floaties and various other pool accessories at each other. By the barbecue sit Bobbi, Grant and Mack, chilling with drinks and hot dogs and talking to various other irrelevant classmates that Fitz has never been bothered to remember. Raina something or other? And Lincoln? Whatever.

It's only just hit him that no one's actually _fighting_ for once, when a figure sits down next to him, her own feet dipping in the water. She's sitting a considerable distance apart from him (after all, who _knows_ what disease he'll contract if he touches her), but the form and the honey-brown hair is unmistakable all the same.

"Simmons."

"Fitz."

He frowns at her suspiciously. "What do you want?"

He's expecting some sort of ridiculous request, a snide remark, a sarcastic retort. Which is why he's so surprised when she simply says, "Nothing."

"Jemma Simmons doesn't want anything?" Fitz snorts and looks up to the sky. "The pigs must be flying."

"Ha-ha," she says dryly. "I'm being serious."

That catches his attention. In all the years Fitz has known Jemma, he's seen her as many things. He's seen her taunt, seen her smug, seen her happy, god, he's even seen her _cry_. Jemma Simmons! Crying! But he has never, not once, seen her like this, all soft and earnest and like a proper, real, human being. He wonders if this is what she's like when she's with her friends, and then immediately banishes the thought, because Fitz _cannot_ be wondering about Jemma, unless it's on what way to best her next.

"Well.. why are you here, then?" he tries.

She shrugs, pool reflection bouncing off her curls. "I don't know. All my friends are busy, and I didn't want to disturb them. I feel like.. I feel like I'm always taking up their attention. So I just decided to.. leave for a while."

"So I'm your last choice?"

Jemma raises her eyebrows at him. "Like you'd be my first."

He recognises that voice, and he immediately feels more comfortable. Banter is fun, banter is easy, banter doesn't leave him with a million confused questions. "No, low-life Leopold Fitz is too poor and too annoying for the holy Jemma Simmons."

"That's not what it's about," she says suddenly, and there it is again, that _niceness_ that's so unfamiliar to him. It doesn't feel right, but.. it doesn't feel wrong, either.

He frowns at her. "What?"

"Money. It's not about money. I know you think I think that I'm better than you because I have more money, but it's not about riches."

She's avoiding his gaze, staring down with such a concentration at the water that he thinks it might start smoking and burning at any minute. Unexpectedly, he finds himself grinning.

"I know. It was always about besting than each other at everything, right?"

Neither of them look at each other, but they can both tell the other is smiling.

(weird. since when did leopold fitz know how _jemma_ bloody _simmons's_ mind work?)

Jemma nods, and they sit in silence for what seems like eternity. Then Skye yells for Jemma to come and help her with the foam noodles, and Jemma gets to her feet.

"Bye, Fitz."

Those two words are the sweetest things she's ever said to him, and he's left gaping open-mouthed after the impossible girl that is Jemma Simmons.

...

The next day, Jemma Simmons is freshly thirteen and as obnoxious as ever, and Fitz is left wondering if he'd dreamed the whole scenario up the night before.

(he hadn't)


End file.
